Dad said it would be good for us to “be around people.” So he sent us to a summer camp on a small island—only reachable by boat. Lena and I spent most days locked inside a shed full of dolls. I secretly recorded footage.
Our room was run-down and filthy, the food disgusting. The supervisors were cruel, especially to Lena. At night we sometimes heard screams from the other end of the property. In recent years several children have disappeared there—no one talks about it.
I never want to go back there. The organizer is a distant relative—he sits with us at the Easter table every year as if nothing happened. Dad doesn’t believe a word we say. I hate him.